It's funny how my happiest and my saddest moments all seemed to occur at once. I watched Calleigh blow out her candles; I watched Calleigh sit on Nigel's lap while she opened her presents. I was so pleased to see that I had an amazing daughter, but I was saddened that none of her characteristics could possibly attributed to my actions as a father.
I spent the evening thinking about my current situation. I could hear all of Jordan's words echoing in my head; I knew that this was an unbreakable commitment . . . I would never be able to run again. I found myself surprised that I was more concerned about my tendency to run from all my problems than worrying about Jordan's tendency to run. I found a sick humor in the fact that the tables had turned so quickly; I was now the troubled one . . . Jordan had her life together. Mine was falling apart. It had been falling apart since I left Boston.
My apartment is freezing. I'm continuing to unpack my kitchen; I figured I'd like to be able to eat in the near future. It was my only motivation to continue digging through boxes in a vain attempt to assemble some organization in my life. I needed to do something to keep me from calling Jordan and begging to see my daughter. I found that the simple words 'my daughter' brought me enormous comfort. For some reason it didn't make me feel quite so alone in the world. I remember James saying something to that effect to Jordan just moments prior to freefalling into the St. James River. I never thought someone so crazy could ever say something so true. Having someone else in the world that is part of who you are was an amazing comfort.
I was thankful that tomorrow was Monday; I looked forward to doing something to temporarily distract my mind.
My sleep was fitful as it had been for five years. I woke with excited anticipation of returning to a place that was once a home to me. I looked forward to being a homicide detective in a city in desperate need of people to solve complex and slightly more dramatic crimes. I couldn't remember the last time I felt anticipation; much of my life in Milwaukee was based upon a comforting routine. The routine guided me through a miserable stable life. I was perfectly satisfied with that; for some reason I had come to expect that I would be unhappy. I wondered why I should be happy after causing Devan so much pain. I wondered if my unhappiness was God's way of punishing me for going astray; I had stopped going to church . . . I had stopped saying a brief prayer before falling asleep. I had even questioned the existence of a God. I reasoned that no God would let Devan die as she did. It was also possible that I stopped because I was afraid of the wrath I would incur for breaking many of the sacred Commandments . . . using the Lord's name in vain, not honoring my parents, coveting those that were never supposed to be mine. I racked up a lot of sins over the thirty-eight years of my life.
The moment I set foot in the door, Eddie had an assignment for me. It was a MVA. It could be as simple as the brakes failing, the driver falling asleep at the wheel, or a successful suicide attempt. Jordan had always taught me to look for zebras rather than horses. For some reason I immediately expected foul play; I always expected foul play. It was safer to expect the worse . . . occasionally I was surprised that human nature wasn't as destructive and hurtful as I anticipated prior to examining the case.
"Jordan," I said as I walked up to where she was completing a liver temperature on the elderly driver that was pulled out of the wreckage. The car was bent around a tree in one of the popular squares. I remember Jordan and me going for coffee at a small café only a block away from the site of the accident.
"Seventy year old male. Cause of death is pretty self-explanatory. The only weird thing is that the liver temp is 103.7 and he's only been dead for a half hour," Jordan said as I walked up behind her. The body was mangled; there were pieces there that I wasn't sure what they even were and there were pieces missing. I instantaneously became nauseated. I needed to quickly get up and walk away. I hadn't seen that carnage in years . . . well, since I left Boston. I primarily dealt with stabbings and GSWs in Milwaukee . . . I never dealt with elderly men that were torn apart by steel after colliding with an old oak tree. I hadn't been present for an autopsy in five years. In Milwaukee there was no reason to as the medical examiner was an ancient man that in no way exuded the sex appeal Jordan and Devan did.
I looked up at the sky. I still wanted to vomit all over the pavement, but I didn't have many Prozac left . . . I'd be damned if I was going to throw them up.
"You okay?" Jordan asked as she walked up behind me. I tried to take a deep breath in an attempted to regain my composure. I remembered that smiling suppressed the gag reflex, but that didn't work today. I ended up vomiting on the pavement . . . it was the last thing that I really wanted to do. I hoped she had walked away; I hoped she wasn't watching me.
"I guess you're not okay. I'll have the body bagged in a few minutes if you want to go get yourself cleaned up," Jordan replied. I looked down and was dismayed to see two barely digested Prozac. I figured today would be a lovely day . . . my first unmedicated day in five years.
"I guess I'm a little desensitized," I replied as I stood up and wiped my mouth off with a handkerchief.
"I guess after five years . . .," Jordan trailed off. She obviously thought that whatever comment she would make wouldn't make this situation any better. She had become so thoughtful. I had become so emotionally closed off; I often found that I was insensitive. In Milwaukee, I would often make rude comments that would make Sara cry. I didn't know why I did that; I attributed it to Sara being too damn sensitive . . . in reality, I was just too damn cold.
"So what's the story? I assume that you already talked to the witnesses," I replied. My voice cracked a little bit; my voice was hoarse . . . my throat burned.
"I'm taking care of the body. It's your job to interview the witnesses. You're taking Prozac," Jordan commented. I was embarrassed that she knew; I was impressed that she knew what pills looked like partially digested.
"I'm going to go do my job," I replied. I tried to get away from her. She followed me for a few feet.
"Here take this," Jordan said as she handed me a pack of gum, "Your breath will smell just like a rookie's."
There was the barb that I was waiting for; I was just thankful that she didn't choose to probe my anti-depressant use.
"Thanks. I'll fax you my report," I replied as I began to walk away. I ran a hand through my hair. All this sleep deprivation was beginning to catch up to me; I felt extremely disoriented and dizzy. I attributed it to shame and guilt. I neglected to remember that I hadn't eaten in well over twenty-four hours.
"You aren't going to come to the autopsy?" Jordan asked. She looked a little shocked; I guess that was the one thing she hoped to teach me . . . the answers always lay within the body. I didn't think my stomach would be able to handle the path to the answers. It was the first time that I realized I wasn't as tough as I thought I was; I had been ground down into a fragile shell of a person. I survived only because the pills kept me from feeling depressed enough to kill myself; I survived only because I had a routine to make each day pass as yesterday and the day before that had. I was functioning at such a low level that it even shocked me.
"No . . . I'll need the afternoon to get all my paperwork processed. Eddie left a few of my old case files on my desk . . . thought I'd spend the evening trying to piece together the loose ends that I might have missed," I replied. I planned on working until I was so exhausted that my body had to sleep.
"Oh. I just thought . . . never mind," Jordan said as she looked at the ground, "Are you okay?" She looked at me as if I was going to fall apart.
I'm not okay. I'm not okay. I'm not okay, I thought.
"Yeah . . . just tired," I lied.
"You never were good at lying," Jordan commented.
"I'm not good at all that much," I replied. I hadn't intended to say that out loud, "I should start interviewing witnesses."
"I should get working on the body," Jordan replied. She walked away. I watched her walk away. I was glad she didn't try to broach the subject of my shortcomings as a man on this particular venue. Those things could be talked about later. I really didn't ever want to broach that subject . . . I hoped my comment fell upon deaf ears. Some things were much too dark to be talked about in the light of day.
My day passed uneventfully. I filed paperwork. I waited for Eddie to assign me another case. I introduced myself to a couple of detectives that I hadn't seen before. I looked through case files until midnight. My eyes were drooping and my head felt heavy. I reasoned that it was probably time for me to go home. My body was ready to drift into my usual fitful sleep.
The next morning was the same as yesterday. I woke up and cursed when I found that I only had ten Prozac left. I knew what that meant. I would have to go to a doctor and tell him about all my problems and how I came to depend on pills to function. The doctor would look at me with pity in his eyes and send me home with a prescription. I hated doctors . . . I hated shrinks. I knew that I would have to go in for a mandatory counseling session; I had to do that when I started my job in Milwaukee . . . I remembered Boston being no different.
I drove to a café that I remembered liking five years ago. I falsely believed that an espresso and scone would some how make me feel better. The coffee was bitter and the scone was hard.
Eddie called me . . . said something about a bank robbery . . . four dead bodies. I unfortunately was first on the scene. I knew I was supposed to wait. I knew that it would be stupid for me to go in alone without back up. I went in anyway with my gun drawn. People outside the bank were screaming and crying. I guess the robbers had an early roll out; it was a shame. The dead looked so young . . . they looked so fresh. It was sad to see four bodies seemingly wilted on the white marble floors; the blood provided a striking contrast.
The sound of the gunshots didn't even make me flinch. The heat and explosion of my flesh did nothing more than make me crumple to the ground. I guessed the robbers weren't done; I had interrupted their work, and they sure as hell put a cramp in my day. I distinctly remember hearing three shots . . . one to my right arm, which sent my gun flying across the floor . . . one to my right leg, which caused me to collapse . . . one to my abdomen, which caused the world around me to suddenly become hazy. I wondered if those men or women intended to kill five people today. I included myself in the death toll . . . I figured that my injuries probably weren't minor. I wondered if somehow this was my punishment. I wondered if this was intended to make Jordan's life easier; I wondered if this was a sign that I should have never come back to Boston.
I don't remember much of the ambulance ride, but I do remember feeling hands all over my body. I remember the sensation of saline and blood being pushed into my veins. I remember voices calling for chest tubes, a central line, and packed blood cells. I remember the word 'stat' being thrown around liberally as if it was how all people end their sentences. I remember everything fading to black. I wondered if I would ever wake up again.
I did wake up. I woke up four days later according to the nurses. They lavished attention upon me. They informed me that rods were put in my arms and legs; I joked that the rods were my internal body armor. No one seemed to find that funny. The nurses told me that I lost my spleen, but I didn't really need a spleen. They asked if I had family that should be notified. I said I had no one. Cal was in California; he didn't have much money. I didn't want him to waste his money on a plane ticket to come watch me wallow in my own misery. The nurses seemed sad that I had no one. They weren't nearly as sad as I was.
One of the nurses, Tammy, said that Eddie had stopped by a few times. She said that a woman stopped by in the evenings. Tammy didn't work the evening shift, so she couldn't tell me the woman's name. I didn't want it to be Jordan. I didn't want her to see me like that.
I rested in my hospital bed for hours on end. I kept the room silent . . . no television . . . no radio. I tried to make sense of this. I tried to make sense of the fact that I walked straight into danger seemingly without a care. I walked around like my life really didn't matter; it was a startling conclusion . . . I wondered when I stopped caring. I wondered when I suddenly felt so alone. I wondered when everything got so bad; I wondered how I could make it better. I wondered why it took three bullets to make me begin to reevaluate my desire to live. This was by no means an epiphany, but it did bring to light questions that I thought I should start answering.
"Hoyt . . . that was stupid . . . that was fucking stupid," Eddie said as he walked into my room. I wanted to thank him for reminding me, but I figured at this point it was easier just to keep my mouth shut.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" Eddie asked as he sat down in a chair next to my bed.
"Go get me a soda . . . I'm sick of the water the nurses keep bringing me," I replied. Eddie looked as if he was going to slap me over the head; I probably did deserve that.
"Hoyt . . . you dumbass. So that nurse, the brunette, she single?" Eddie asked. I had to laugh at that. Eddie always had a way of finding something positive about the most inappropriate situations; I figured that was probably why he wasn't a negotiator . . . he might just end up encouraging people to jump off buildings.
"I'm not your personal dating service. You want a nurse, you go get shot," I quipped. Eddie laughed and punched my left arm; I would have killed him if he punched my right arm.
"She's worried about you," Eddie said as he flipped the television on. Law and Order was just about the last thing that I wanted to be watching.
"Who?" I asked.
"They shot your arm, leg and spleen not your brain," Eddie commented. I scowled at the remark.
"Oh. Her," I replied. I didn't know what to say.
"Hey, Eddie, why don't you leave for a little bit," Jordan replied. I wondered how long she had been standing there. Eddie got up silently and left the room. Jordan sat down in the chair that Eddie had vacated.
"You are a moron," Jordan said.
"Can't you do better than that? Eddie at least called me a dumbass," I replied. Jordan didn't look nearly as amused as I was.
"Well, since Calleigh and Nigel are waiting in the hallway . . . I'll wait to unleash my wrath. What made you do that? I just need to know," Jordan asked. I was surprised that she brought Calleigh; I didn't want her to see me like this.
Despair . . . umm, self-loathing . . . helplessness . . . an empty void that seemingly grows larger everyday.
"I wasn't thinking . . . I haven't been sleeping well," I replied. I was lying again and Jordan knew it, "You should take Calleigh home; she shouldn't be here."
"What if you do something else stupid?" Jordan challenged.
"I'm in a hospital, Jordan," I replied. I was surprised that I hadn't thought enough to tell her that I wasn't going to do anything nearly as stupid as the stunt I pulled four days ago.
"Woody, what happened? I just don't get it . . . you're someone that I don't even know anymore," Jordan said.
"I've done a lot of horrible things to people that didn't deserve it," I replied as if that was a suitable answer to her question.
"I know you've done a lot of horrible things to yourself, but who else?" Jordan asked.
"You don't have that much time," I commented. I was quickly becoming irritated with the conversation.
"Wanna bet," Jordan challenged. I wanted to throw something; I wanted to cry. It would be the first time that I cried about Devan, Jordan, Sara, and all the others that I have forsaken. It had taken me five years to begin to grieve my actions and my losses.
"Let's not do this . . . please," I pleaded. I wanted her to leave; I didn't want her to see my like this.
"Isn't it about time? You've had five years," Jordan replied. She should know that time doesn't always bury the past. Sometimes all time does is amplify all the emotions; it digs a hole in your heart . . . it's a hole that doesn't seem to be easily fixed.
"Time hasn't been my friend," I replied.
"You should see Calleigh. She drew a butterfly for you . . . she asked me a million questions about you," Jordan commented. I was glad that she dropped the subject. I'm sure she would bring it up later.
"Jordan, not like this," I replied. I wanted to give in so badly, but I remember being her age and seeing my mother connected to all the tubes. It terrified me. I was terrified of my own mother when she was dying. I didn't want Calleigh to be terrified of my.
"I'm going to go get her," Jordan replied. She was still stubborn; I guess motherhood didn't change the core elements of her personality. She disappeared for a minute. Calleigh didn't seem to be fazed by the fact that I was tethered to the bed by IVs and machines. Jordan reminded her to be gentle with me.
"Mommy said you were hurt really bad by the bad guys," Calleigh said as she crawled up on the side of my bed, "I made you a butterfly. Uncle Bug calls them Lepidoptera. He says it's Latin for butterflies. Did you know that butterflies have scales?"
"Thank you. I didn't know that butterflies had scales. You are so smart," I replied. She was so smart; I could see the tears well in Jordan's eyes . . . I saw Nigel look down at the floor.
"You have pretty eyes," Calleigh commented. I handed Jordan the picture; she hung it on the bulletin board on the wall across the room. She hung it where I would always be able to see the picture. It was beautiful . . . precise work . . . something I hadn't expected from a four year old.
"Calleigh, has anyone ever told you that you are beautiful?" I asked. It was a slip that I hadn't intended to come out of my mouth. She shook her head.
"You are . . . you should remind your Daddy to always let you know that you are beautiful," I replied. Calleigh looked confused, but she nodded her head. I hoped that the simple comment would always stay with her; if she remembered nothing else, I hoped she would always know that she was loved, she was beautiful, and she was the world to so many people.
Jordan, Nigel, and Calleigh visited with me for another hour before they needed to leave. Jordan said she would come see me tomorrow. Nigel told me to get well. Calleigh was asleep in Nigel's arms. I was sad to see them go. I was sad to find myself alone . . . again.